Pondering Beauty
by Kasmi Kassim
Summary: Thranduil is coming to Rivendell, and little Arwen is troubled.  Little Legolas ponders beauty, the twins discuss adolescent females, and Elrond really doesn't want to know.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, save the plot.

**Rating**: G

**Summary**: Thranduil is coming to Rivendell, and little Arwen is troubled. Little Legolas ponders beauty, the twins discuss adolescent females, and Elrond really doesn't want to know.

**Author's Note**: My possibly very first G-rated story ever. Yay.

Like others, this childhood story is a standalone, though set in one of little Legolas' periodic visits to Rivendell in my Greenleaf Chronicles. I needed a break before moving onto more dark stuff.

Enjoy!

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By **Kasmi Kassim**

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_**Pondering Beauty**_

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**Part 1**

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Many wondered at the great lengths the lord of the Last Homely House went to entertain his guest.

The place was a madhouse; elves ran about calling to each other, muttering and cursing and tripping over each other's robes, as they prepared the house according to the commands of their lord – which meant reveling, dining, hunting contests, games, dance and song festivals, and Eru forbid, more reveling.

And if one knew Rivendell, speculation was bound to fly. Some claimed it was goodwill, while others said it was a strategic move to please their new, powerful ally. Others viewed it as a thinly veiled display of the realm's power and grandeur. And as all such disputes went, counsel was sought from their wise Chief Councilor, who had been found in the kitchen, one hand reaching into a cookie jar while struggling with his other hand to shake out flour from his hair.

And faced with such a question, the unfaltering councilor had looked up and said that the whole pandemonium was just Lord Elrond's excuse to indulge in some mindless fun.

Well, that was that.

And adding to the chaos was a pair of elflings running amok. Supervision was stretching thin as the guests' arrival day neared, and it became more of a regular occasion for Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower to return at dusk with two leafy bundles of sleeping elflings in his arms, and for Chief Councilor Erestor to stand patiently under a library bookcase, waiting for the inevitable plummet of a little lady elf who had ventured one shelf too high during a game of hide-and-seek, along with a little warrior elf who had decided to 'rescue' her.

It was after one such incident that Legolas, feeling contrite, decided to make himself useful in the healing wing. Especially now that everyone was busy, and a harried Elladan was absent, discussing something with a harried Lord Elrond. He was spreading a tablecloth onto the mixing table when he heard a loud whisper: "Legolas?"

He started. A round face was hiding behind the door, and he scuttled to where she stood. "Arwen? I thought you were baking lembas!"

"I was." Arwen peered into the main room of the healing ward, where a few healers could be seen busily milling about. "But Elrohir's still not back from speaking with Ada."

"Elladan is talking to your Ada too," Legolas said helpfully. "Everyone is so busy."

"Because your Ada is coming, right?" Arwen peered at Legolas. Legolas beamed.

"That's right! My Ada is coming. He'll be here soon!" He grabbed Arwen's hand and led her into the healing ward. "I'm going to show him all the potions I made while I was here!"

Arwen looked around, admiring Legolas' accomplishments on the top shelf. It was her father who had suggested keeping them there, until the King of Mirkwood himself came to try them first. Upon hearing those words, Erestor had given him a Look, but then Erestor was always giving people a Look.

"You are really good," Arwen concluded, awestruck.

Legolas smiled broadly. "Your lembas are really good too."

Arwen's face fell. "They're always burnt or undone." She looked morosely down at her feet. "Elrohir keeps having to put out fires I make in the kitchen."

Legolas thought for a moment. "Elladan always looks funny after he tastes my potions," he said. Arwen did not look up from her woeful stare, and Legolas peered into her face. "I think your lembas are the best," he offered.

Dark eyes peered up timidly. "Really?"

"Of course!" Legolas took her hands in his and bounced on his heels. "I'm going to ask you to bake me a gigantic load of lembas when I go on a heroic quest one day!" His face beamed with excitement. "Goblins, Trolls, Oliphaunts!"

Arwen squealed. "Oliphaunts!"

"Ada will like it too," Legolas announced. Arwen stilled, suddenly uncertain.

"Do you think your Ada will like me?" she whispered.

Legolas blinked. "Of course he will like you. You're -" he paused, for lack of better words, "- Arwen."

A tentative smile spread on Arwen's face. "Then I'll like your Ada too," she declared.

Legolas began his task of preparing the table for his experiment. Arwen propped her elbows on the table with a dreamy smile. "What is he like?"

"Ada?" Legolas heaved a stool to the wall and clambered up, tiptoeing to reach the highest shelf. "He's... tall, and his voice is really pretty when he sings, but he can yell really loud if he wanted to, and he has really strong arms, and long legs, and a really wide stride, and..." he hopped off of the stool hugging two jars of herbal ingredients. "He sings me to sleep and carries me to bed and brushes my hair."

"Oh." Arwen watched Legolas scuttle back to the table. "Is he scary? When he uses a loud voice."

Legolas considered. "No," he concluded, and went about laying out spoons and flasks. "Because he only uses it on orcs and spiders." He thought some more. "Well, he does to his soldiers too, but only when they're fighting orcs and spiders. And he runs really fast, and he's really good with his bow and sword and knives and spear and..." he glanced at Arwen and found huge eyes staring at him. "But he'll like you," he assured, "because I like you."

Arwen looked relieved. "I've never met a king before," she said, suddenly shy. "And I heard all these things from Elladan and Elrohir and Ada and Erestor and Glorfindel and you and... does he like little girls?"

Legolas blinked.

Arwen's eyes widened in terror. "You wouldn't know, because you're not a girl," she whispered, stunned by the self-revelation. "But what if he likes little boys like you and not little girls like me, and you wouldn't know because you're not a girl, and you don't have a sister so you wouldn't know that way either, and...what shall I do?"

Legolas was speechless.

But seeing Arwen's obvious distress, he opened his mouth to reassure her that his Ada would never be unkind to her, when Elladan appeared at the door.

"Ah, you haven't started." Looking greatly relieved to see that Legolas' table was not yet a frothing mess, he approached in brisk strides. "And what are you two implings plotting in here?"

"Legolas' Ada doesn't like little girls," Arwen said woefully.

Elladan blinked. "He doesn't?"

Truth be told, his encounters with Thranduil had never involved little girls. He glanced questioningly at Legolas, who looked just as lost. Elladan smiled.

"King Thranduil does not dislike girls, Arwen." He bent down to scoop up the elfling into his arms. "In fact, he is every maiden's dream. A brave, charming, gallant prince – I mean, king – any lady would swoon for. He had a legendary court of admirers – practically every maiden in the whole kingdom was enamored with the prince. I mean, king." He glanced at Legolas, who was staring at him in disbelief. "Not that he ever had eyes for anyone but his queen," he added hastily. A broad smile spread on Legolas' face as he puffed up his little chest with pride.

"So he had lots of ladies swooning for him?" Dark eyes sparkled with awe. Elladan smiled.

"He was the most beloved elf in his realm. So I heard." Though Eru knew where Glorfindel had gotten that information.

"Then he must have seen so many pretty ladies." Arwen looked crestfallen. "What if he thinks I am ugly?"

Elladan rolled his eyes and pinched a plump cheek. "Arwen, you are not ugly."

"But I'm short!" wailed Arwen. "And I'm round, and have these chubby cheeks, and dark hair, and Nana's portraits all have her so tall and pretty, and yellow-haired, like Glorfindel and Legolas, and his Ada must have yellow hair too – does he?" she peered over her shoulder as Legolas nodded in confusion, "- and since he looks like Legolas and Nana and Glorfindel, he must be really pretty too, like them, and to him I must be just a chubby little thing that doesn't even come up to his knees -" she glanced at Elladan's knees, just to make sure.

"Who doesn't do what to whose niece?" Elrohir stood in the doorway, looking mildly disturbed and only partially relieved to have located Arwen. He frowned at the silence; Arwen looked tragic in Elladan's arms, Legolas stood by a surprisingly unfinished – or un-started, Eru bless him – concoction, and Elladan looked harassed out of his wits. "What is your grievance, little star?" he entered the threshold.

"Arwen thinks she's ugly." Elladan had a long-suffering look.

Elrohir stopped himself from mirroring the reaction. "Isn't this, er, rather early for you to be afflicted with such woes, Arwen?"

The meaning was lost on Arwen. "No, Legolas' Ada is coming in three or four days! Glorfindel said so!" She looked tearfully at Elrohir. "Is it too late to become pretty? Or yellow-haired?"

The twins exchanged glances. With a sigh, Elrohir reached out to take Arwen from Elladan's arms. "You are not ugly, Arwen," he said firmly, "and you cannot change the way you look in a matter of days. Nor can you change your hair color."

"Not permanently, anyway," murmured Elladan. Elrohir shot him a don't-give-her-ideas look.

"But what you _can_ do," continued Elrohir, lowering the elfling onto the floor, "is bake a wonderful lemba bread as a gift for King Thranduil. He has good taste, and is a very courteous elf; he will thank you sincerely and think very highly of you." He took her hand into his and led her out of the room. "Well, shall we go see what you can do in the kitchen?"

With a sniffle, Arwen nodded, and the two left the healing wing hand in hand. Legolas watched in silent bewilderment. "Why does she think she is ugly, Elladan?"

"Who knows." Elladan sighed. "Females. Even at that age they're unfathomable."

Legolas tucked away this new information for future reference.

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It was later that night that Legolas found that Arwen's fears could not be so easily quelled. Opening his doors to soft knocking, he found Arwen standing in her pajamas, clutching a pillow and a number of toys.

"I found a way," she whispered excitedly as the two hustled their way to the bed and clambered up. "I know a way to become pretty."

Legolas' eyes widened. "What is it?"

"Your potions!" Arwen spread out her toys on the bed, and offered a large plush imp to Legolas, who accepted it readily. "You can make me a beauty potion. Like love potions."

"Love potions?" Legolas had never heard of either of those.

"It's in storybooks," Arwen explained patiently. "It makes you fall in love."

"Oh."

"So a beauty potion should make you become beautiful!" Arwen bounced on the bed. "Like Nana!"

Legolas frankly did not see why Arwen was ugly while Lady Celebrian's portrait wasn't. He told her so, and she frowned, clearly exasperated with his ignorance.

"My Nana was the prettiest lady in Rivendell, Ada told me so," she said with further patience. "And my Marileth dolls looks like that too, and _she's_ supposed to be the prettiest girl doll ever." She held out an elf maiden doll, a lone cool ceramic among plush toys.

Legolas stared down at the doll. "But ... she's shaped funny."

"Legolas!" Arwen shot a disapproving look. "Ladies are supposed to look like that!"

Legolas hesitated. "But...you don't," he protested weakly, wondering how discourteous he was being.

Arwen looked uncertain. "Well, the most beautiful ladies are shaped like that," she corrected.

Legolas looked down at the doll. Frighteningly huge eyes looked back at him, a brilliant blue. Dark black lashes curled lavishly upward, looking out of place among pale eyebrows and waves of yellow hair. Under a narrow, pointed nose, a red mouth full of white teeth beamed up at him, and he did not quite know how to respond. He gingerly handed the doll back to Arwen.

"So? Can you do it?" Arwen peered at him eagerly.

Legolas did not understand, but he decided that he did not necessarily have to understand in order to help. Besides, if her own brother could not understand her, there was no way he could. "I'll try," he said.

Arwen's face lit up. "Promise?"

Legolas brought a hand solemnly to his heart. "Greenwood Honor."

Arwen squealed and threw plump arms around his neck. Legolas hugged back, and then frowned. "Arwen? How do I make a beauty potion?"

Arwen stiffened. "I don't know," she said, uncertain. "I thought you would."

Legolas blinked. A moment passed, and he still sat in silence. Arwen began to panic.

"But you make up new potions all the time!" she said, almost indignant. "Ada said you were really good at making up new things. Can't you make up a beauty potion?"

Legolas hesitated. Nowhere in the healing ward or books had he seen anything related to love or beauty. But he resolved himself to find out.

"All right," he said. "I'll make you one."

Arwen's eyes shone like stars in the lamplight. Legolas decided that, though he had no idea why she would want such a useless potion, she deserved it because she was Arwen. And if it made her happy, he could make her one.

Maybe.

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_**To be Continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, save the plot.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Thranduil is coming to Rivendell, and little Arwen is troubled. Little Legolas ponders beauty, the twins discuss adolescent females, and Elrond really doesn't want to know.

**Author's Note**: I...changed my rating. There go my dreams of a G-rated story.

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By Kasmi Kassim

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_**Pondering Beauty**_

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**Part 2**

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It was the day of the guests' arrival, and the elflings had yet to cause any mischief. It was nothing short of a miracle. A worrisome one.

Excusing himself from the distressed advisor of the guest wing, Elladan joined Elrohir in the stables, and headed toward the healing ward. They found Legolas in the preparation room, with Arwen scowling from the other side of the table. "But Elladan and Elrohir aren't grownups either!" she was saying. "And they try your potions all the time!"

Legolas hesitated. "But they're a-do-les-cents," he pronounced carefully. "They're allowed."

Arwen stomped. "But I need to try it – that's the whole point!"

Legolas peered pensively into the bowl. "All right," he said, resolutely. "I will try it."

Arwen gave an exasperated huff. "You're already yellow-haired." She pointed at his head. "It won't make a difference on you at all."

Legolas was at a loss.

"I won't be ready on time," Arwen said, suddenly hit with a realization. "The king will be here any minute and I'll be ugly!" Her voice rose with anguish.

With a glance at each other, the twins stepped into the room. "What is this?" Elladan said mildly, and Legolas started, looking guilty.

Arwen turned to them with a tearful look. "I'm going to be round and dark and ugly," she wailed, holding out her arms. "The king isn't going to like me!"

"Hush, Arwen, hush. Of course the king will like you." Elrohir picked up the elfling while Elladan examined the mixing table.

"Golden Tiger, Willowmirth, Honeycomb." Elladan picked up the bowl and sniffed, eying the contents carefully. "Terula, Morning Sun, and – Yellow Eye?" He turned to the nervous elfling. "Have you tried any of these before, Legolas?"

"Only the honeycomb," fidgeted the little elf. "I thought they might make her yellow-haired."

Elladan covered his face with a hand. Elrohir wisely refrained from comment.

"Well, at least you didn't let her drink it." Elladan's voice was resigned. "And no, you cannot drink it either. Yellow Eye is too strong for little ones like you. And Willowmirth makes you...too happy." He gathered up the remainder of the herbs. "And Arwen, you cannot change the way you look by eating plants, however powerful they may be."

Arwen looked ready to cry.

"Can't you do something with your magic?" Legolas said hopefully. "You have lots of healing magic. Like Lord Elrond."

Elladan turned to Legolas to pronounce a flat No, but then he was struck by the Hopeful Stare. He glanced at Elrohir, who also looked cornered against Arwen's tearful version. Elladan slowly looked up at the ceiling, helpless. "Well," he sighed, "we may be able to do _something_..."

Elrohir shot a wary look. "_We_?" he echoed.

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"Yes, she gave it to me, but she answered the door clad in her _bathrobe_."

"Oh. Trauma."

Elrond's feet caught mid-stride. Were those his sons' voices? He signaled for the advisor of the guest wing to wait – the poor elf wrung his hands restlessly as Elrond frowned at the door of the healing wing.

"...and I think I called her Sariel, instead of Miriel."

"What?"

"Well, I can't tell her apart from the others next door. Dimwen, Nitwen, Adlanniel, Ariel, L'Oriel, Orielle..."

A dry chuckle followed, and it was definitely Elladan's. With a severe look, Elrond turned fully toward the door. Elladan was supposed to be in his place this very moment, aiding the advisor of the guest wing. And Elrohir was _not_ supposed to be _anywhere near_ the lady's wing, now or _ever_.

"And I thought you were the courteous one."

"Not if I had to be the one warding off their antics all the time. Sometimes I wonder how you can go on smiling. I'm glad I'm not the older one."

"Did I mention I tell them I'm Elrohir?"

"Valar, I hate you."

Elrond remembered the presence of his advisor. He glanced at the elf, who dutifully pretended that he had not heard a thing, though his hands were no longer impatiently wringing. Elrond reached for the doorknob.

"So her dress wasn't torn?"

What? "What?"

"You know, it's the new trend. Torn dresses, loose hairs, a sword, things like that."

...maybe it would be better to send the councilor to go on ahead.

"You never saw? They insist on going orc hunting with you, and when you decline, they fly into a rage and stalk off, only to sneak into your party later – and then they go on a killing spree to prove their superior swordsmanship." Elladan paused. "Except they also somehow find the most inconvenient dangers to get trapped in, and expect you to rescue them if they scream loud enough."

Was...was this what his adolescent demographic was up to nowadays?

Elrond leaned in, and saw through the open crack that Elladan was working away on a mixture on the table while Elrohir stood fiddling with something hidden in his sleeve.

"That," Elrohir muttered, "sounds like a badly written adolescent love story. Written by an adolescent."

"I think it is," Elladan said distractedly. "I've seen them circulating the same book – maybe they all contribute to writing it. No single elf could possibly come up with all that – the flowing hair, the sword, and the weird speeches, not to mention the torn dresses hiked up to their knees and declaring their undying love for you or me, or both."

"I... I think I need to un-hear that."

Elrond glanced at his councilor, praying that he had gone away in his haste. Of course, the elf stayed exactly where he was, no longer bothering to feign disinterest.

"You know," Elladan said casually, still working, "you should hear them squeal about the undead ghosts who stalk them. Or werecats. I've even seen some of those maidens thinking they're Valar incarnate." He frowned. "Or Ada's long-lost lover's daughter, or his long-lost niece who is in love with you or me. Or both."

Elrohir blanched. "I did _not_ just hear that."

Elrond could not agree more.

"Besides," Elrohir said, weary, "it's probably just an adolescent thing. Female thing. Adolescent female thing."

"Let us pray it passes, then." Inspecting his work, Elladan began to add the finishing touches. "At least she gave us the formula to... whatever it is that she uses."

"She stared at me for the longest time when I asked her for the full kit." Elrohir blinked as Elladan gave him a long look. "What?"

"You told him you were Elladan, didn't you?"

Elrohir grinned sheepishly. "Oops?"

And then they were back to the awkward situation in which his adolescent son had wandered purposefully into the lady's wing to ask a compromisingly-clad lady for something personal of hers, which was now presumably hidden in his sleeve. Elrond was beginning to have doubts about listening to this. He turned, and noted with dismay that his advisor was latched onto the crack, oblivious to pointed stares and subtle coughs.

"Since when did scandals involving either of us _not_ spread like wildfire?" Elrohir was saying wryly. "At least it won't be that you're, er, you know. With Lindir."

"Please leave Lindir out of this." Elladan looked vaguely ill. "He's our tutor, for Eru's sake, and that wasn't even me they found locked in the closet with him – it was you!"

"But what could I do? You were out in the gardens pretending to be me." Elrohir grimaced. "At least this time no one else will be paired with you in their gossip. Just you and your, er, tastes." He paused. "I think she rather liked what she was picturing."

Elrond had a feeling he would _not_ like what he was picturing. Not that he was picturing anything.

"On the bright side, Elladan, you'll have less maidens with torn dresses following you with swords – "

"I _don't_ need a reminder, thank you."

"-it will just be some harmless giggles and whispers whenever you pass by with a – "

"Elrohir!"

Elrond quickly turned and left the healing ward, ushering his lingering advisor ahead. He had heard quite enough.

"Holy warg, Elladan! Was that the shade of pink you were going for? Do you think it will match the lace and frills?"

"Shut up, Elrohir."

He really didn't want to know.

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The green banner was already visible when Elrond gathered up his welcoming party in the courtyard, noting with dismay that it was missing obvious persons, such as his sons. As he was not inclined to go catch his sons doing... whatever it was that they were doing, Erestor had gone instead to breathe fire upon the tardy. All too soon, a youthful smile came into view, and Elrond found himself smiling in return.

"Hail King Thranduil." He stretched out his arms. Thranduil clasped them firmly.

"You're supposed to let me hail you first," he said, "and then welcome me to the valley."

Elrond smirked. "You're welcome."

Amid the laughter and introductions, Erestor returned unnoticed, followed by harried stragglers. If Thranduil noticed, he didn't show it. As Elrond began to lead the party back to the house, a pattering of footsteps could be heard. Both lords turned immediately.

A yellow-haired elfling peeked around the corner, stepping on the hem of an overflowing pink dress. She stared at Thranduil in awe. Both elvenlords stared.

And then another yellow-haired elfling tumbled into view, and launched himself into Thranduil's instantly open arms. "Ada!"

Elrond continued to stare at the pink-clad elfling while father and son embraced and laughed. Golden curls tumbled down lace-lined shoulders, and black globs of ... something ... lined her eyelashes, and...Valar, was that lipstick?

Elrond realized that the elfling was glancing at him nervously, and also that he did not trust himself to speak, aside from obvious comments such as 'where did you find your mother's nightgown?' or 'that is one red lipstick.' So he stood frozen until his sons appeared, and was relieved that they looked normal, and then was irritated for feeling so. The twins had the decency to look sheepish as they bowed to Thranduil, murmuring their greetings.

"And this must be," Thranduil said after a lingering pause, casting a glance at Elrond. Who still could not bring himself to do the introductions.

Legolas tugged on the other elfling's hand, and she shyly shuffled closer to Thranduil, arms full of pink frills and train. "This is Arwen, Ada," announced Legolas. "She is my friend."

With a smile, Thranduil bent to meet her eye to eye. "Thranduil of the Woodland Realm at your service." He took her plump hand and planted a small kiss on it. "'Tis an honor to make your acquaintance at last, Lady Arwen."

Elrond found his voice at last. "Thranduil," he snapped, "stop charming my daughter."

He did not need to see to know that Erestor was snickering.

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"Really, it's no use trying to pin the blame," Elladan said, spreading his arms. "It's no one's fault in particular, Ada."

"_Something_ must have been responsible for this," Elrond all but snapped, quiet enough to be unnoticed amid the clatter of supper. "It isn't as if she stands out - everyone has dark hair here!"

"Exactly," Elrohir said patiently. "Look at Nana's portraits, or the admiration Glorfindel gets for his hair. The unattainable is coveted, just by the virtue of being unattainable; it feeds the illusion of perfection. It's foolish, but what would a little girl know? Even her doll looks like that."

"Doll? What doll?" Elrond glanced across the dining table, where Arwen – who was back to normal, at Elrond's insistence and her dismay – was giggling at something Thranduil had said. The bleakness she had initially worn after showing up bathed and changed for supper was nowhere to be found.

"Elladan did it," she was saying. "He invented a potion to make my hair change color!" She looked back at her father and brothers, who quickly grinned in unison. "And Elrohir did my face."

"A true work of art," Thranduil said solemnly. Elrond fought the urge to kick him under the table.

But then Thranduil sobered somewhat. "So, my lady, what ever compelled you to change your hair color?"

Arwen's face fell. "I wanted to be pretty," she said, dejected.

"You are quite pretty as you are," Elrond said firmly. Arwen fiddled with her fork.

Thranduil glanced at father and daughter. "You do not believe your father," he observed.

"He says that because he's my Ada," Arwen said wisely. "So do my brothers."

Thranduil glanced at Elrond, who was too busy staring to comment. He slowly bent toward the elfling. "But Lady Arwen," he said, "I have had yellow hair all my life, and I must say I find your dark hair enchanting. It is as alluring as the shadow of my whispering woods at twilight."

Arwen peered up. "Really?" Then she remembered herself, and frowned. "But your hair is so bright and pretty. Like the sun."

Thranduil made a melancholy face. "Ai, but what use is the sun is there are no mysterious shades of the night to counter it?"

Arwen blinked, thinking hard. A tentative smile began to spread on her face, and Thranduil was not one to miss a chance. "I have been king for many years, and my kingdom is immense. I have seen many beautiful maidens during my life at court." His voice dropped a notch as Arwen looked up, wide-eyed. "However, you are by far the most beautiful maiden I have ever beheld on Arda."

Silence fell.

Arwen stared in disbelief. "Really?" she whispered.

Thranduil brought a hand solemnly up to his heart. "Greenwood Honor."

Arwen squealed, and threw her arms around Legolas, who hugged her back. She excitedly turned to her father, who smiled and nodded in agreement. She nearly bounced onto Elladan's lap and began to attack her food with renewed vigor.

Legolas sighed with relief. Arwen was happy again. All was well.

Almost.

He couldn't shake the lingering doubt in his mind, so he tugged at his father's sleeve. When Thranduil turned, he whispered, "Really?"

The king gave a secretive smile. "Except for your mother."

Legolas beamed. All was well.

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_**The End**_

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Elrond stared at the huge blue eyes. Glorfindel shrugged, leaning casually against the leg of Elrond's writing table. "Well, I brought you one, as you asked. It's the new craze all over the human towns. No doubt it was given as a gift from the trade."

"Oh. Dear. Valar." Elrond dropped his face into a hand. "Another Marileth Suen doll."

"New and improved," supplied Glorfindel, ever helpful.

"If I see another one of these ever again I swear there will be violen– " Elrond paused, casting a suspicious glance at Erestor, who stood behind Glorfindel with an innocent look. "What are you hiding there, Erestor?"

Erestor took out a small package from behind his back. "Just a little gift from the human trade," he sang, with a gleam in his eye. "Have you been acquainted with their newest model, Elrond? His name is Garias Stuhil."

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**Author's Note**: Not to ruin you some sweet little elfling mischief, but this story was made to poke fun at disturbing social phenomena aimed at the adolescent population, not the least also absorbed by children as well. So Mary Sues, Gary Stus, Barbies and teenage romance novels involving vampires and werewolves (which shall remain unnamed) abound!


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